


Don't Let Me Down

by Remember When (scribblemyname)



Series: Fushimi/Yata Fic [26]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alpha!Fushimi Saruhiko, Alpha/Omega, Angry Sex, First Rut, Heat Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega!Yata Misaki, Post-K: Lost Small World, Pre-K, first heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:29:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/Remember%20When
Summary: Everyone thought Saruhiko was the omega, sighing and longsuffering in the background as he supported his overly energetic alpha in venting his aggression on those Homura chose to fight with.





	Don't Let Me Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadow_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/gifts).



"You've already turned down every willing alpha in Homura that could help," Totsuka pointed out mildly, rubbing Yata's back with a soothing hand.

It only made Yata grit his teeth harder, fists clenched against the desperate, awful feeling building in his body. It left him empty and shaking and wanting something he couldn't even describe with an ache that almost hurt.

"Quite aggressively too," Kusanagi said easily, blowing out smoke, standing on the other side of the room.

They weren't wrong. Normally, Yata loved being around his clan members, but right now, he couldn't stand the way most of them smelled and moved and looked at him with the other half of the heat instincts his body had finally decided to dump on him for the first time ever. Right now, he was curled up miserably on a couch he'd used to share, wearing a shirt Saruhiko had forgotten to pack because it had been in the dirty clothes when he left. Totsuka, as senior omega in the clan, was trying to take care of Yata and was the only one who could get close without setting off the worst of Yata's instincts that wanted but shied away from everyone who wasn't—

Kusanagi was a beta. He wasn't threatening if he didn't get too close. "Well." He put out his cigarette and shrugged coolly. "Guess it can't be helped."

"What?" Yata found his tongue, clenched his hands tighter against the deepening ache in his body, closed his mouth against the need to pant and gasp. He growled.

"I see." Totsuka pulled away and grabbed a bag to put in a few clothes, a toothbrush, a comb, a few other essentials.

"Where are we going?" Yata demanded.

Kusanagi just looked pointedly at the shirt.

"I'm not— Damn it, no!"

Totsuka patted his back gently. "Don't worry. We'll go with you."

And that just made Yata's face flame red as he sputtered. It's not like they'd go in the room with him, but they'd go with him, an omega in heat, to Scepter 4, the absolute last place Yata wanted to be.

* * *

Omegas in heat had a scent that turned heads, especially alpha heads, and a dim corner of Yata's brain knew he should be glad that they'd gone with him because every time an alpha looked at him like they were responding to his heat, his temper and aggression rose up just as bad as if they were badmouthing Homura, and Kusanagi would gently push him closer to Totsuka, whose gentle grip was apparently made of iron.

Yata wasn't entirely sure why he was letting himself get dragged along to Scepter 4 or why Totsuka stayed with him outside of the stuffy Blue King's office while Kusanagi went in. He just wanted and wanted and wanted, and he was almost desperate enough to cry. He swore under his breath, low and repetitive, but the empty, demanding hunger in him seemed to only get stronger with every passing minute.

Then Kusanagi came back out and had gotten permission to visit the dorms.

This was a horrible idea. He should go back, let his clan take care of him the way they'd offered, even just stay miserably with Totsuka, but he wanted and wanted and _wanted._ Just one more thing to hold against his former best friend.

* * *

Everyone had always thought Saruhiko was the omega, sighing and longsuffering in the background as he supported his overly energetic alpha in venting his aggression on those Homura chose to fight with.

It wasn't true. Neither had started heats or ruts yet when people were still comparing them and drawing the wrong conclusions, but it didn't take having a cycle to know which you were. Saruhiko hadn't had his first rut still by the time he went over to Scepter 4, and while he knew it would come soon enough, he wasn't too worried. Scepter 4 provided suppressants sufficient to take the edge off for those out in the field. It would likely be unpleasant, having a sudden influx of sexual physical desire, but nothing self-discipline couldn't actually handle. It was fine.

The last thing Saruhiko ever expected to see a few months after he walked out of Homura was Misaki sitting on his bed in his dorm at Scepter 4 as if he had the right to be there. As if Saruhiko hadn't permanently broken their relationship.

For a moment, hope tried to well in Saruhiko's chest. Maybe Misaki had decided to— But he crushed it stillborn before his mind could even fully shape it. (He would have gone anywhere Misaki had if their positions had been reversed, he thought rather resentfully.)

"What do you want, Misaki?" He was practically vibrating with tension, but then, now that he thought about it, so was Misaki. Saruhiko narrowed his eyes at the way Misaki had curled in on himself on Saruhiko's bed, the faint sweat tinge to his red hair, the way he was gritting his teeth.

Misaki glared at him in response. "Shouldn't it be obvious?" He flushed red and looked away.

Saruhiko frowned and pushed up his glasses. He took a step closer, and it was like a wave of _something_ washed over him, something ticklish and hot and utterly foreign. He stared at Misaki and leaned slightly forward. Was that _his_ shirt Misaki was wearing? He wanted to go closer, to tip Misaki's head back and figure out what this weird feeling was, and that's when he placed it as something he'd never been susceptible to before because he'd always been too young.

He wanted to reel back abruptly but settled for straightening and holding his ground as if unaffected. He clicked his tongue and said with a tone of disgust, "You're in heat."

"Yeah, genius." Misaki scowled at him. "I'm in heat."

His first heat. And the thought of _that_ shouldn't have been so startling or made Saruhiko's mouth feel dry or his breath come just a tiny bit harder. "Why are you here then, Misaki? Shouldn't Homura be helping you?"

"Homura _is_ helping!" Misaki practically growled and sputtered and ended up mostly just glaring at him. He muttered low under his breath, "They brought me here."

Saruhiko blinked. That couldn't be right. He stared at _his_ shirt on Misaki's body, the way Misaki clenched his fists tightly in Saruhiko's blanket looking anywhere but at Saruhiko. Misaki who was only self-conscious about one topic: sex and, by extension, girls.

He almost shook his head. He _wasn't_ Misaki's alpha, regardless of it being a perfectly valid alternative to the opposite sex. Misaki and Saruhiko were too young to have staked any kind of claim.

"Why should I help my enemy?" He narrowed his eyes at his _former_ best friend. "You were going to kill me, right."

"Fuck you, Saru," Misaki growled back.

"I thought you were asking me to fuck _you."_

Misaki's breath caught, a hint of a desperate whimper at the back of it, and Saruhiko felt his insides freeze. He took a shallow breath, the scent of Misaki's heat hitting him like a freight train. His head felt light and his skin heated. He gave Misaki his most condescending look to cover the reaction.

"Please, Saru," Misaki said low and breathy, arms loosely folded over his middle as he rocked once, twice with need he couldn't actually contain.

It was getting hard to think with the smell of heat and sex and Misaki filling his dorm room. He'd never— He _had_ imagined this once and told himself he couldn't, he hadn't, Misaki was his best friend and allergic to any mention of sex in the first place.

"Please," Misaki said again, a low growl in his voice, threaded through with desperation. He swore under his breath.

Saruhiko was dizzy with the scent of Misaki's heat. He could deny him, but he found he didn't want to. There were other people in Misaki's life he'd put there, put as more important than their friendship, people he could turn to but he hadn't chosen to do this with, and Saruhiko relished that realization as he drew closer. There was no one else Misaki should turn to for this, should _want_ for this. He touched Misaki's shoulder, and Misaki bit his lip then gasped as that one touch shuddered through him.

Heat ran through Saruhiko's insides at the reaction, his own breath suddenly hard to catch.

It seemed to set something loose in Misaki. Suddenly, he was right there, mouth finding Saruhiko's, clumsy and needy, too hard when he pressed in close. Not that Saruhiko had a moment to focus on that or the blood his own teeth had drawn from the inside of his lip at the impact. Because Misaki was _climbing him_ and in a moment, they were both on the bed, as if this were a scuffle, but if this was one, it wasn't for power or dominance but pure physical contact. Misaki's awkward fumbling at his clothes was desperate enough that he'd probably break the buttons off Saruhiko's new coat if Saruhiko didn't help and quickly.

He tried to reach for the shirt Misaki was wearing and got an actual hard bite on his neck for the effort.

"Ow! What was that, Misaki?!"

Misaki just made some sound between a groan and a whine, face buried into Saruhiko's neck, his hands fisting in Saruhiko's clothes, and fuck, every part of Saruhiko's body thrummed with a need so intense, he could hardly breathe with it.

"Misaki." He murmured it reverently against Misaki, felt Misaki's answering desperate whine in his own body. "Let me."

Misaki shuddered and let him. It didn't take long to divest himself of the uniform or Misaki of everything but the shirt he clearly didn't want to let go of. Then it was all urgent, hot need, in the bite of Misaki's nails digging into his shoulders, in the soft shuddering kiss Misaki pressed to Saruhiko's mouth.

Saruhiko pressed him down into the bed, holding onto the kiss and drawing it out until his head felt light, his blood pounded palpably in his veins, and Misaki was shoving at his shoulder to let him go to breathe. They gasped together, Saruhiko's hand sliding downward to find damp sweat and precome. Every lungful of air just seemed to bring in more of the heat scent, the slick need growing between them. Knowing it was hormones and pheromones did nothing to slow down Saruhiko's growing desire.

Misaki slick along his thighs, the scent of his need heavy in the air, and the skin soft over hard collarbones and warm throat where Saruhiko nipped and tasted. Every whimper, every quiet moan just made Saruhiko's heart beat faster, his cock aching even before he found friction against Misaki's hip.

He found himself making small, whining noises, unable to stop himself. Every brush of his cock against Misaki's skin was driving him a little closer to crazy, making him lose himself in an instinctual need that was only getting more intense with every passing moment.

"Saruhiko." Misaki hissed, his grip tightening on Saruhiko's shoulders. "I can't— Fuck. _Saru._ "

It was instinct, pure and simple, not desperate love driving Saruhiko's arousal, guiding where to push his fingers in and Misaki cried out, startled strangled pleasure, and Saruhiko's whole body shuddered despite himself. He was slipping out of control of any of this, and he needed this as much as MIsaki did.

"Hold still." He tried to hold Misaki still as he entered him, but Misaki surged up against him, hips rising to meet his, and Saruhiko gasped in startled shock at the heat surrounding him, clenching down around him before he could even think to react, even think at all. He barely moved and realized he was already trapped inside Misaki's body and it felt so good, he panted against Misaki, stared at Misaki's face wide open in helpless pleasure.

Neither of them knew what to do, but neither of them needed to. Every breath, every press or faint motion of their bodies, seemed to bring another ripple of pleasure in an agonizingly slow release. Misaki squirmed under him for a moment and it was too much. It felt like everything at once, hot and bright and then a hollow heaviness behind it.

He breathed against Misaki and listened to Misaki's unsteady panting slow to normal.

Misaki lay quietly all of a minute before he tried to pull away—and couldn't.

Saruhiko hissed. "Stop."

"How do we get off each other?" Misaki asked, a faint hint of panic already edging his voice.

"We have to wait for the knot to go down," Saruhiko said matter-of-factly. "They mentioned that in health class."

Misaki bit his lip and squirmed around until he didn't have to look at Saruhiko, head turned sideways on the pillow.

The squirming didn't help at all. Saruhiko had to fight the way his body wanted to react to that and couldn't really with no previous experience. It took a fresh wave of release out of him, slow, steady, wet, and Misaki froze beneath him as it happened.

They didn't talk, just waited through it for what felt like the longest time. Finally, Saruhiko began to ease out.

This time Misaki hissed, his hands suddenly gripping painfully. "Stop, Saru."

Saruhiko frowned. "It's down," he said.

"Well, it hurts."

They lay there somewhat longer, Misaki tucked in close, fitting against Saruhiko like he was made for it. Saruhiko breathed against his temple, the scent and taste of Misaki's sweat against warm skin surprisingly pleasant. Misaki fell asleep before Saruhiko tried again but didn't react in pain when Saruhiko pulled out.

Saruhiko stared down at Misaki for a moment, conflicting emotion burning in his chest, but finally, he just sighed and went to get something from the tiny bathroom to clean them both up. Misaki didn't wake. Finally, Saruhiko crawled back in bed and slept himself.

* * *

Saruhiko dragged himself out of bed in the morning to turn off the alarm, feeling every inch of his nakedness and sore muscles. He looked back at Misaki sprawled out under his covers on the lower bunk, asleep, red hair mussed, as trusting as if they were back in their own shared apartment before Saruhiko left him.

Saruhiko fished his PDA from the pocket of his discarded uniform and sent a request for emergency heat leave, effective immediately. It would give him three days to take care of Misaki with no one else to think about but each other.

Misaki stirred in a rustle of blankets and a soft groan. Then, "Saru?" His voice was soft and rough with sleep, all the hostility stripped away for a few moments.

Saruhiko stared back but didn't answer. A fresh wave of heat scent reached him. Misaki had his fist wrapped around the edge of the blanket, teeth clenched, as if trying to ignore what he was experiencing. It lit something rough and hungry in Saruhiko all over again. He forced himself to drag his gaze from Misaki to the PDA, waiting for the answer that would let him get back over there.

No questions asked, just permission granted.

Saruhiko sighed relief and tapped out a, _Thank you, Captain._ He set the PDA on the desk and returned to Misaki.

* * *

Misaki let him take his old shirt off the third time he knotted him. By then, neither of them had anything like a clear head, and Saruhiko vaguely remembered that they'd also mentioned in health class that there was generally a need to stock up on food and water before a heat. By the time Misaki's heat was starting to get even slightly less intense, Saruhiko was lightheaded and weak and it was definitely because he hadn't stopped to consider that at all.

"I should go back," Misaki said after the latest lull had gone on twice as long as the rest. Whether or not he was completely done was moot. He was done enough to stop.

But while Saruhiko had managed not to point out how mutual this was by now, he was definitely not done. "So you want me to help you but won't do the same?" he asked, deliberately hitting the tone that Misaki usually found annoying.

Misaki sat straight up. "You're in rut!?"

Saruhiko blinked at him. Not quite the reaction he'd been expecting, more incredulous and slightly concerned than anything else. He clicked his tongue. "Heat triggers rut. Rut triggers heat. Did you pay any attention in health class?"

Misaki stared at him, blushing lightly.

Saruhiko felt a flare of too familiar exasperation. "You didn't, did you? Idiot."

Misaki's fists clenched and he started spouting off a protest Saruhiko paid zero attention to, instead cutting Misaki off with his mouth and a long, slow kiss that Misaki only resisted for a moment before he gripped Saruhiko painfully tight and kissed back.

"I hate you," he whispered close, like an endearment, biting every vicious word into Saruhiko's neck and shoulders. "I hate you so much." His hands dug in, leaving fingernail marks and stinging bruises. He bit down hard between each quiet, ragged breath.

Saruhiko let him. There was so much tension between them, Misaki's eyes on Saruhiko's face, Misaki's scowling and glaring with his whole attention. Saruhiko didn't care if he was angry, it felt _good._

Saruhiko had figured out by now how to make the whole thing last longer, and he took his time. Misaki was moving at an almost frenetic pace, like he wanted to just get it over with. Saruhiko had to roll them over and pin him down. Every harsh breath dragged in more of the last of Misaki's heat scent. Every touch just made Saruhiko a little dizzier and hungrier for more.

He scraped red welts down Misaki's arms, bit bruises onto his shoulders, followed every demanding instinct of his body that said Misaki was _his_. "Turn over," he said as he was already pushing Misaki to do it.

He could tell right away that Misaki didn't really like it, but he didn't fight it, just let Saruhiko take him in a traditional mount, his soft whines and moans muffled by the pillow. He missed seeing the need and the anger in Misaki's eyes, but it felt good, and he didn't question his own urges, just bit down hard on Misaki's neck, right over the strongest part of his scent.

Misaki swore and tried to buck him off, but that was impossible with the tie binding them together, with the weight of Saruhiko's body on top of him.

Misaki's panic and arousal washed through him, as intense as his own need. It was a disorienting but heady pleasure, and Saruhiko suddenly realized just what he had done. It would wear off, given time, but no wonder Misaki was panicking.

Misaki waited until Saruhiko's release was finished before he jerked his head away enough to express his irritation. "You weren't supposed to bind us, idiot."

He wasn't, but Saruhiko didn't really regret it. "It's temporary." Temporary or not, it was undeniably intimate as emotion and sensation mingled between them.

When he finally pulled out, Misaki winced though Saruhiko had waited long enough that the knot shouldn't have been a problem. Being knotted that many times in a row had made him sore, no matter how careful they'd generally been. Saruhiko lay back, feeling lightheaded and faint, like his heart was beating too fast and loud and weak enough he couldn't have fended off Misaki if he had gotten violent.

Misaki looked exhausted but peeled himself out of bed anyway and griped loudly at the lack of immediately accessible food.

Saruhiko stared at him, frowning. He pushed his glasses up and watched Misaki digging around in the closet then head for the desk. "You're still trying to take care of me, Misaki?"

Misaki glared at him. He found the stash of energy bars in Saruhiko's desk drawer and chucked two at Saruhiko's head, knocking his glasses askew. "Eat those, asshole." He didn't wait for Saruhiko to obey before he started cleaning himself up, then snatched Saruhiko's shirt off the floor with a scowl on his face.

Apparently, not all the instincts had gone dormant again.

Saruhiko sat up to eat the bars disinterestedly. He was far more interested in Misaki, who was back to looking anywhere but at Saruhiko. It had been too much to hope that Misaki would _keep_ looking at Saruhiko after his need was sated. "You would make a terrible Blue clansman," he commented aloud.

That dragged Misaki's attention back again. "Why would I want to join the blues?!"

Saruhiko just stared back darkly.

He saw the instant of realization on Misaki's face as he stiffened. Maybe he'd finally gotten it through his thick head that Saruhiko had no use for Homura, but he'd wanted Misaki to feel the same way. Then the moment passed, and Misaki was shaking his head, frowning as he brushed it off.

"You wouldn't," Saruhiko answered, after another beat. "What would you know about making something instead of destroying it?"

"Shut up!" Misaki glared. "We did make something together."

"Homura doesn't make anything," Saruhiko retorted. "It destroys."

Misaki threw red aura at him, punching like he was close enough to hit him. Saruhiko knocked it back with blue.

Misaki stared, eyes wide, and all the color drained from his face. It shouldn't have been surprising, let alone a shock, but Misaki suddenly yanked on the shirt he'd been holding and scrambled for his shorts.

"That's my shirt, idiot," Saruhiko complained flatly.

Misaki shot him an answering glare, snatched up his own shirt off the floor without bothering to change, and went out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

Saruhiko stared up at his ceiling and sighed.


End file.
